


All Those Things, with You

by SuperCass



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hannibal - Freeform, Hannibal Lecter - Freeform, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, Roman Holiday, Will Graham - Freeform, cannibalism mention, featuring will graham's dogs, hannigram AU, propably some porn eventually, very gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-04 01:06:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13353279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperCass/pseuds/SuperCass
Summary: Exhausted by his responsibilities and royal duties, Prince William Graham steals away into the night while staying in his nation's embassy in Rome. Discovered by a mysterious and charismatic Luthianian reporter, Will seeks to take a break from the dull life he carries out as prince. But Will's country has many adversaries, and they've found out about his little getaway. Accompanied by Hannibal, and pursued by these insurgents, Prince William finds out what life is really like outside of palace gates.





	1. Il diplomatico

“The Prime Minister of Italy, signore Antonio Segni.”

“It is an honor, signore.”

“Their Excellencies, the King Frederick and Queen Ingrid of Denmark.”

“I’m so glad to meet you, _dine majestætter_ .”

”His Majesty, the King of Cambodia, Norodom Suramarit.”

”How do you do?”

Will grasped the king’s hand and kissed that of the queen. The rather ancient Master of Ceremonies smiled and nodded at Will in approval.

”The Duke and Duchess of Wales…”, The Master’s accented voice echoed throughout the grand room as Will cycled through the same motions he had been repeating for the last hour. He stole a glance at the door of the embassy in between exchanges; the never-ending train of dukes and duchesses, ministers and presidents, and queens and kings waiting to meet him made Will’s stomach turn. The Master of Ceremonies touched his own chin lightly, signaling for Will to smile. _This is g_ oing to be a _long night_ , Will sighed inwardly as he shook yet another hand.

* * *

 

 The orchestra played a fanfare from the corner of the ballroom, and the crowd parted as yet another embassy official presented Will to the swells of people from across the globe who came to meet him in Rome. The official introduced him first in Italian, and then english.

”His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince William…” The orchesta’s crescendo comes too early, and the rest of his title was lost to the angelic sounds of some of the most talented musicians in all of Italy. Not that it mattered; everyone in the room knew who they came to see, just as everyone in Amsterdam, Dublin, Stockholm and London had known. Two beautiful women in formal saris came to shake Will’s hand, and he dove back into the routine he’d been practicing all night.

“Have you enjoyed Rome, your excellency?” Chirped the woman in the pink saree. Her dark, beautiful features would have been striking in the soft light of the ballroom to anyone else, but Will never had time for those kind of thoughts these days. Currently, he was running his schedule for tomorrow over and over in his head, trying to find an hour or two that he could use for a museum visit or the like. No such luck. Will then hastily formulated a response to the woman’s question.

“Oh yes, the people here are simply enchanting, and I’d love to see the sights one day.”

They chatted for a while, and the two Indian women eventually wandered away toward their husbands. Another endless train of high-ranking members of international society came to greet Will, and he soon was swept up in a conversation by the Master of Ceremonies about the recent uprisings in the Soviet Union.

”Prince William,” Will met the eyes of the Lord or duke or what have you who’d spoken. ”What say you on the current turmoil in Berlin?”

Will barely had to think, and let his answer fall eloquently out of his mouth; he’d answered this question five times today and was growing increasingly bored with the topics of discussion at these royal balls. As this plain, middle-aged duke (who Will had learned, was from Romania) was asking Will about the politics of east Germany, a camera flash from the corner of the room caught Will’s eye. He frowned. Reporters weren’t allowed at closed embassy events like this one, and Will hated seeing himself in the papers. The man behind the flash lowered his camera and met Will’s eyes with a cool gaze: a bold move for someone who hadn’t been formally introduced to the Prince. And Willl was sure he hadn’t been introduced; he would’ve remembered. The man was a good ten yards from him, past a large crowd of attendees, but his striking, foreign features were still visible to Will from a distance.

”Your Highness? Is everything alright?”

Will blinked, apologized to the Duke for his brief episode and then continued their discussion whilst gazing over the crowd to the spot where the flash had originated to try to spot the man he’d just seen. He seemed to have vanished the second Will tore his eyes away. After the Duke had let him escape the dull conversation, Will found himself the center of attention yet again as the band began to play a waltz. Will sat in the throne at the front of the room, flanked by embassy officials and his detail on either side and waited for those who wished to dance with him to make their way to the front. A beautiful Italian woman was the first to be presented to Will for a dance. Will thought she may have been the daughter of the Prime Minister. Not that he cared; as the two made their way around the grand ballroom, her champagne colored dress sweeping the floor, all that Will could think of was getting out of his suit and royal dressings and jumping into bed. His "goodwill tour" of Europe had left him exhausted and overwhelmed night after night and he yearned for a break from the chaos. Dance after dance went by without a hitch, just as they had at every ball in every city so far. Moments after the First Lady of Croatia turned from him after their dance, (Will had kissed her hand respectfully, of course, before she departed) he had a startling thought. He approached the throne and signaled for his favorite lady in waiting, Lillie, who had accompanied Prince William and his detail throughout the tour. He sat down gingerly, in the manner he was taught as a child.

”Lillie,” Will whispered insistently as he watched the room spin with dignified men and women of all nations. Lillie's brows furrowed in worry as she approached Will's side.

”What is it, your Highness?”

Will cringed inwardly. He hated being called that, especially by someone that he’d know for so long. ”Did someone feed the dogs before we left the castle?” He asked Lillie anxiously. The worry dissipated from her expression and she affectionately ruffled his curls, leaning on the back of his chair for balance. She was older, and not as strong as she was when Will was young.

"Of course, your Highness. And the Master of Grounds said in his last correspondence that Winston has been barking up a storm all month; he misses you like the desert misses the rain.” Will smiled and Lillie walked back to her place greeting inivitees to the ball. He missed his dogs, of course, but didn’t necessarily miss his home. Will lived in a palace, as a prince ought to, in the capital of his country, surrounded by guards, advisors, tutors and other glorified babysitters. Since Will was a child, he’d had his Royal Advisors peering over his shoulder whether he was out riding, practicing his languages with his tutors, or just reading in his study. He was 25, for God’s sake, couldn’t he be left alone for an hour or two? Couldn’t he get a snack from the kitchens without his detail coming along, or the ladies and gentlemen in waiting dashing around him like leaves in the wind? Wherever he went, Prince William felt eyes on him, observing, overseeing and planning his every move, scheduling his every day. It was exhausting.

“Is his Excellency alright?” Will was asked for the second time that night. Will seemed have gotten lost in thought again, and one of his gentlemen in waiting was checking to see if he felt another one of his headaches coming on. Will dismissed him politely, and gazed out at the festivities. As the Prince looked out over the sea of people, he noticed the same, striking man from earlier that evening, staring at him intently. He was closer than before, alongside the wall of the ballroom, poised elegantly in an arm chair, camera in hand. Will suddenly became aware of his own posture, and sat up straighter in his throne. The music coming from the corner of the ballroom swelled as this man with the sharp cheekbones and the sharper eyes met the Prince’s own. Will was used to attention, but something about this man had caught him off guard. The Prince turned to ask one of his gentleman in waiting who this strange man was, who invited him, etc. But to Will’s surprise, after returning his gaze to the crowd, he saw that the man was gone.


	2. L'evaso

"I feel like a convict.” Will’s pajamas were white with blue vertical stripes, and fit almost too perfectly.

  
“If you are a convict, then this is the nicest jail cell in all of Europe.” Lillie smiled good naturedly as she pulled away the covers of the four-poster bed for Will to climb into. This routine always made him feel rather childish, but Will obliged anyway.

  
“Why can’t I just wear a cotton shirt and shorts? I feel so,” Will searched for the right word. “eldery.” Lillie peered over her glasses at him from the corner of the bedroom. “Like me?”

  
“You know what I meant.”

  
The bedroom was grand, almost as grand as the one in his palace back home. It, like the rest of the embassy, was an echo of the baroque period from long ago. The print on the silk sheets matched the duvet, which matched the curtains, which matched the lampshades. The plush arm chairs and chaise lounge that were set near the balcony were obviously antiques, as was the desk that Lillie leaned up against.

  
“Lillie," Will began. “where’s that sound coming from?”. He was referring to the lively music that could just be heard coming from outside the open bedroom window. It wasn’t very loud, but it was still audible, He could hear laughter, a band, and light-hearted Italian voices singing along. Lillie wrinkled her nose in distaste as she walked over to Will’s bedside, his daily planner in hand. Just the sight of it made Will’s head throb.

  
“A street festival in your honor, your Highness. I regret to say that nothing can be done about the noise, it must be quite irritating.” Lillie offered apologetically as she moved to shut the open window.

  
“No,” Will insisted. “I want it open.”

  
Lillie obliged, however reluctantly, and began to go through the royal agenda with Will for the next day. Will sat with his head resting against the backboard of the bed and listened to the list of meetings, conferences, and ceremonies that he had already memorized for the next day.

  
“The Prince shall awake by seven am to take breakfast with his advisors. By half past eight, he shall take the embassy car to Saint Peter’s Square to greet church goers and for his conference with the papal advisors. At eleven am, the Prince shall take a brief midday meal at the Vatican-,” Will cut Lillie off mid sentence.

  
“Why don’t the just call it ‘lunch’?”

  
“Excuse me, your highness?”

  
“Who writes this anyway? And why do they use the word ‘shall’? Are they trying to drive me insane?” Will’s headache was getting worse. Lillie could see that he was becoming visibly distressed. His hand flew to the night table for the bottle of mild pain killers that were usually left out for him. When his hand came up empty, Will began to panic. When questioned about the absent bottle, Lillie explained that the Royal Doctor wanted to try a new medication for his episodes and headaches. A series of injections, and a form of therapy involving lights and electricity was to begin as soon as the Prince returned home.

"Would you like to throw me in an asylum, while you're at it?"

As Will became more and more frustrated by the situation, Lillie grasped the young man's hand in an attempt to calm me down.

  
“Prince William, why don’t you try to re-“

  
“Rest? How on earth could I rest? I’m just so excited for tomorrow’s endless parade of meeting and conferences.” Will knew his sarcasm was cruel, and that Lillie was simply doing her job, but he couldn’t take it anymore. “So what comes after the Vatican, hmm? An interview with the pigeons on the Spanish Steps? Gelato tasting with the Pope at four? Or will that clash with my plans to throw myself into the Trevi fountain at five?”

  
“ _Your Highness_.” Lillie was taken aback by this sudden outburst. It was so unlike the Prince to act this way. She rang the little bell on his side table and another lady in waiting dashed into the bedchamber.

  
“Fetch the Doctor.” Lillie whispered into the young girl’s ear, who left as swiftly as she arrived. When Will heard who she’d gone to retrieve, he became inconsolable.

  
“Anyone but him!” He moaned. Will did not have good expirences with the Royal Doctor. He was an old, scrawny man who derived his joy from stabbing Will with needles whenever he got the chance. Will didn’t know what was in those syringes, but it sure wasn’t penicilin.

  
“Will, he’s helped with your headaches and your, er, _episodes_ , in the past.” Lillie tried to hold Will’s hand in hers as she’d done when Will was a boy, but his skin was hot to the touch and he was sweating excessively. As if on cue, the Doctor rushed in and stood over Lillie’s shoulder. His thick white mustache muffled what he said to Lillie, but Will caught the words “sedative” and “fever dream”.

  
“Now, your Highness,” said the Doctor lightly. Will squirmed as the Doctor grabbed his arm. “This will make you rather sleepy, and will go into effect in less than an hour.” Will had to be held down by his gentlemen in waiting as the Doctor plunged the needle into his arm. Will could felt the pull of the needle and cried out not in pain, but protest, and tried to shake off the servants who held him down. 

  
“What’s in that one, Doctor?” Will spat. “Ketamine? Fentanyl?”

  
“Leave him alone,” The Doctor directed to Lillie and the other servants, ignoring Will’s accusation. The men in waiting let him go, and Will saw the newly made red marks on his arms where their fingers had pressed into his skin "He’s going to remain feisty for a while.” After they’d left, the Doctor seized Will’s wrist with a surprisingly strong grip. Will, who was never one for direct eye contact, averted his as the Doctor seemed to stare right through him.

  
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll shut up and act like the puppet that you are.” The Doctor smelled clinical, and Will could see every wrinkle on his aged face as he pulled the Prince toward him.

  
“We don’t want a repetition of the unfortunate incident with your mother, now do we?”

  
Will forced himself met the eyes of the Doctor in an act of defiance, and refused to let the anxiety and anger that was coursing through his veins be made visible. The Doctor then released his wrist and left the room, door slamming behind him. Will sat in bed, awake as ever. He looked at the clock; there only fifteen minutes until midnight, and the rest of the embassy and royal staff would surely be asleep by then. Will felt like his body was moving on its own, ignoring the wishes of his brain as he rose from the luxurious bed and went to his wardrobe. The staff had hung all his shirts and trousers, all pressed and ironed to perfection. He selected an white dress shirt and a pair of casual slacks. As Will buttoned his shirt, buckled his belt, and laced his shoes, he considered the repercussions that would come with the plan he had for that evening, a plan he had been planning since this evening’s ball. Will could be forced to abdicate the throne, throw away his chance to be King. His father would be in a state of panic, searching for an heir to the throne.He doubted that would happen, though. His country wasn’t exactly the keenest on applying justice to its royalty; Will was sure they could turn a blind eye to his brief holiday, couldn’t they?

  
The warm, June air seemed to beckon to Will as he drew closer to the window. He could still hear the festivities going on below, and could almost imagine being on the dance floor himself, chatting with the locals and enjoying the summer night. Will wasn’t sure why he desired to join them; he’d really never been to that kind of party, and wasn’t used to being around that many people in a casual setting. Saying that the Prince was antisocial would be an understatement. Will grew up surrounded by formality and social graces, not the smooth conversation and irregularity of life outside the walls of the palace.

“Here goes nothing,” Will directed at no one in particular. He wondered if the Italian party-goers down below could see his royal Highness climbing out a window 5 stories above them. He looked down, and saw the bushes below, and knew that a fall from that high would be a larger risk then he realized. Surprisingly, he wasn't afraid. The fall would hurt, surely, and it's possible that he wouldn't survive it. It would have been concerning to anyone else how indifferent the Prince felt on this topic. Then, as Will stood outside his window on the outer edge of the balcony, contemplating whether the jump was worth it, he saw the scaffolding.

  
The embassy must’ve been going under some construction, as just around the corner from Will’s bedroom window was scaffolding stretching from the seventh floor to the street below. It was practically gift wrapped, ready for the Prince’s escape. Will worked up the courage to inch over to the window where he could begin the climb down to the pavement. The second Will’s feet hit the Roman street below, he felt two things. The first was the rush of relief that came with finally being free of the embassy’s walls. The second was the drowsiness of the Doctor’s sedative that had finally gone into effect. Will knew he had to get a bit farther from the embassy, and followed the light of the street lamps through half-shut eyes toward a park only a block away. The Prince was becoming increasingly tired as he walked sluggishly to the nearest bench, folded his hands underneath his head, and welcomed sleep’s warm embrace. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry I couldn't update for a while, it's a big exams week at school and it's really stressful. thanks for the patience and I hope you like this chapter! hopefully the next one will be longer.


	3. Il Taxi

Will awoke to strong hands on his shoulder, a steady and firm grip shaking him lightly. The Prince felt a wave of regret, the memories of his escape returning before he even opened his eyes. Surely a police officer had found him, and was taking him back to the embassy. Will slowly sat up and looked up at the owner of the hands that had shaken him awake. To his surprise, Will recognized the man above him. It was the reporter he’d seen in the embassy ballroom, the man with the camera and the sharp eyes that seem to cut through Will like a knife.

  
“ _Buongiorno_ ,” said the man, though it hardly looked like day to Will. It was dark and silent, the street lamps casting the only visible light apart from the moon.

  
“I _know_ you,” Will was still groggy and his voice sounded almost slurred, as if he were drunk.

  
“And I you.” The man smiled warmly at the Prince and sat down beside him. “I would not deem it wise for royalty to be roaming the streets of Rome in the early hours of the day.” Will leaned back against the bench, and put his head in his hands. Also he could still feel the effects of the sedative, the Prince’s head was beginning to throb with the beginning of a migraine.

  
“I’m not sure I would call its ‘roaming’,” Will directed his words towards the pavement, head remaining down. “I only made it about three yards from where I came.”

  
“I suspect those three yards matter more than your Highness realizes.”  
Will raised his head and saw that the man was still smiling. Although it was a rather warm night, the man was dressed in a waistcoat, slacks, and a rather heavy suit jacket to match. It was hardly the attire of a reporter. The moonlight cast hauntingly lovely shadows across the man’s foreign features, and Will’s inebriated state left him feeling truthful.

  
“You’re the most beautiful reporter I’ve ever seen, I think.” Will was having trouble keeping his eyes open, and laid his head back against the bench as the man beside him laughed. It was a nice laugh, and Will began to laugh along with him. It was something he hadn’t done in a while; a diplomatic tour of Europe didn’t include much time for that kind of thing.

  
“It may also be unwise for royalty to be intoxicated in the presence of the press, Prince William.” Before Will could sit up straight and explain that he wasn’t drunk, the reporter had risen from the bench and began to hail a passing cab, one of the only cars Will had seen since he left the embassy. The vehicle came to a screeching halt before the odd pair. The reporter turned to Will and helped him up from the bench. “I’m afraid I’ve been terribly rude, your Highness, and neglected to introduce myself. My name is Doctor Lecter.”

  
“Please call me Will.” The Prince was sure that if he was called anything else for the next twenty-four hours or so that he’d go insane. Dr. Lecter smiled.

  
“Of course. As long as you call me Hannibal.” Now it was Will’s turn to smile as he met Hannibal’s eyes again.  
“It was very nice to meet you, Will.” Will didn’t find it as challenging to make eye contact with this strange reporter so as he normally found it when meeting new people, although was not sure of the reason. Hannibal then approached the cab and greeted the driver in Italian.

  
“ _Buonasera_ , Signore,” Hannibal, from outside the passenger window, began to speak rapid-fire Italian with the cabbie, which Will could still catch the gist of, even in his sedated state. Hannibal had given a nearby address, and was asking the driver to take him home. Will was confused. Wasn’t Hannibal going to bring him back to the embassy? Would he just leave him here?

  
“ _E_ _lui_?” The driver asked as Hannibal stepped gracefully into the cab. He gestured to  Will, who was now sprawled out on the bench, his drowsiness increasing by the minute. “ _Costa di più per due_.”  
Hannibal sighed and got out of the cab. He approached Will on the bench and assisted him in getting up from it. Will groaned as the throbbing in his head increased, and he felt as if his legs would go out from under him at any moment. Hannibal put Will’s arm around his neck and almost carried him to the cab. It was more physical contact than the Prince had experienced since his tour began two months prior, and Will felt oddly safe in Hannibal’s arms. Once the pair were both inside the cab and the driver pulled away from the curb, Will turned to this stranger who sat beside him.

  
“You know the embassy is the other way, don’t you? I could’ve made it there myself.”

  
“You expected me to allow a crown Prince to walk the two city blocks in such a state?” Hannibal didn’t look at Will as the cab rolled along the Roman streets, occupied only by a few other automobiles and a handful of passersby. “No. Once the cab arrives at my villa, you will take it back to the embassy, or wherever you wish to go. No sense in me robbing royalty of a presumably much needed vacation.”  
It was only a few more minutes until they arrived at what must have been Hannibal’s address. It was a large off-white villa on the outskirts of the Piazza Campo de’ Fiori. Will wondered how a reporter could afford an apartment at such a place.

  
“It was an honor, your Highness. Just tell the driver where you want to go, and he will take you there.” Will was too tired to correct Hannibal’s use of a royal title. Will murmered some expression of thanks and watched as Hannibal opened the door to the cab, payed the cabbie, and stepped out into the night.

  
“ _Dove abita_? Eh?” The driver asked as Will watched Hannibal walk into the building.

  
“The colosseum.” Will’s migraine and drowsiness were getting worse, and his answer came out more slurred than he’d expected. The driver shook his head.

  
“No. Where from?”

  
“I understood you the first time. I want to go to the colosseum.” The driver was getting frustrated.

  
“No. This man told me to take you home. I cannot be driving a drunk man to _il Colosseo_. Where is home?”

  
“I’m not going home.” When Will said this, the driver began to shout at Will in a dialect of Italian that the Prince couldn’t quite decifer. Will shouted back in english, his head pounding. He wondered why the sedative had left him still feeling so ill.  
“I’m royalty,” Will hissed. “You will take me where I wish!” Will only used this card when he absolutely had to; it made him feel like the self-righteous, royal prick that most people suspected he was. At this last act of desperation, was the cabbie flew into hysterics, calling Will delusional and some very offenseive sounding Italian slurs. Lights began to to turn on in nearby buildings as the pair continued their discussion, Will now sitting silently in the cab as the driver berated him relentlessly.

Hannibal was having an odd night. His ruse to get into the embassy ball had gone over surprisingly well, all things considered. Hannibal stepped into the elevator of his building, and pressed the button that would take him to his flat. The operator had gone in for the night, and Hannibal was alone. In the flickering light of the elevator, he could see that on his hands there was still a bit of the embassy guard that had tried to check into Hannibal’s story and confiscate his camera. Hannibal had gone to the ball under the pretense that he was a famed Austrian cellist who would accompany the orchestra that night. When one of the guards went to ask the group if they were expecting an additional cello player, things got a bit messy. Otherwise, the ball went fairly well, and he got excellent photos that all other reporters in Europe could only dream of taking.  
As Hannibal stepped out of the elevator and opened the door to his apartment, he spotted his camera sitting on the desk where he’d left it before going out that night. Oh, how Hannibal’s wished he’d had it with him when he stumbled upon the Prince that evening.

  
Prince William was certainly the oddest part of Hannibal’s evening. It even won out over the embassy guard’s attempt to fend off Hannibal using a violin bow. Hannibal had been out for one of his frequent late night walks, people-watching, when he saw a figure asleep on a bench, alone, and vulnerable. His first instinct was not to gently wake the man and escort him home, of course. It was only when he saw who it was that Hannibal decided to be kind.  
The boy was beautiful. The perfect subject for Hannibal, and the perfect material for him to submit to his news agency. He’d already got more than enough photos at the embassy ball, but exclusive rights to the story of the young Prince’s escapade would do wonders for his career and launch Hannibal into fame, which was one of the reasons he left the Prince in the cab rather than inviting him into his apartment for an interview. Fame was not exactly something the Doctor craved; Hannibal was content with the comfortable opulence that his penthouse and automobiles provide him with. Another reason William hadn’t accompanied him that evening had to do with Hannibal’s tendency to indulge in the finer aspects of life. The app young Prince was too luxurious a thing for Hannibal to allow himself.

  
He strolled over to the refrigerator, selected a cut of meat, and began to collect the ingredients he required for his dinner. Hannibal treated the meat like pork, rubbing it down with spices and a teriakyi marinade that he was gifted last month. He selected one of his copper pans that hung on the wall, pulled the olive oil from the cabinet and began to cook. Hannibal stopped almost immediately, hearing the sounds coming from the apartment’s open window. His was the top flat, yet the noise from the street was still clear and audible. The cab from earlier was still in front of the building, and the shouting coming from below was beginning to disrupt other tenants in nearby villas. Lights started to flicker on in small windows like fireflies. Hannibal instantly knew what was going on, and knew also what he had to do. Sighing inwardly, he turned off stove, set down his pan, and left his apartment.

  
The night was still warm, despite the fact that it was now drawing near to metwo am. When Hannibal arrived at the door to the apartment building, he was surprised to see that the cab was gone and that the shouting had ceased. In the cab’s place was a defeated, dishelved looking young man with his eyes raised to the sky. Hannibal approached Will quietly, yet his footsteps still echoed through the empty Roman streets.

  
“May I ask what we are looking at?” Hannibal stood beside Will, his eyes now raised as well.

  
“What are we looking _for_ ,” Will corrected. He kept his gaze aimed at the sky, hands in his trousers’ pockets.

  
“My mother used to tell me that the stars were a lost man’s best friend, and that they’d sooner be consumed by their own fiery gases than leave you when you were alone.” The Prince was unsure why he was telling personal anecdotes to this foreigner reporter, but Hannibal didn’t seem fazed by the story in the slightest.

  
“We often look to the heavens to provide us comfort when we are are left to out own devices. You are not alone, Will.”  
The Prince brought his eyes back to earth to meet Hannibal’s gaze. The reporter couldn’t help himself, and dove into the deep end without first thinking.

  
“Would you like to come inside, Will?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm so sorry for the delay in posting - but i won't lie, it probably will happen again.
> 
> Italian translations :
> 
> Buongiorno: good day  
> Buonasera: good evening/ have a good evening  
> Dove abita? :Where do you live?  
> E lui? : and him?  
> Costa di piu per due : it costs more for two

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is my first fic on ao3 so be patient with me hahaha...if you enjoyed this first chapter let me know! <3 - Kelsey


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